Rules of Truth
by sunday nights
Summary: In one night, Blair realizes that in order to discover who she wants to become, she must first learn everything there is to know about someone else. Carter/Blair friendship, implied Chuck/Blair. Oneshot.


Title: Rules of Truth

Author: sunday nights (Michelle)

Summary: In one night, Blair realizes that in order to discover who she wants to become, she must first learn everything there is to know about someone else. Carter/Blair friendship, implied Chuck/Blair.

Word Count: 3412

Disclaimer: Do not own Gossip Girl or any of the characters.

Author's Note: A oneshot about the missing night between Carter and Blair. I'm a full Chuck/Blair shipper, but like everyone else, I wanted to have a say in what happened that night. And while your at it, I'd love to get reviews (:

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It was silent as Carter settled into the mahogany bar stool next to Blair's. The only noise was the resounding ticking of the bar's clock - tick, tick, tick.

His eyebrows practically crashed together in shock as Blair took another long swig of her scotch, but he didn't say anything.

She stole a glance at him - just a quick one - then turned away abruptly so he wouldn't see her giving him a once-over. But he knew her game; he jolted his head up at the very last moment, catching her eyes.

She smiled sheepishly. He returned it with a weary grin.

"Blair - " he began.

"Carter - " she spoke simultaneously.

"Sorry, you first," Carter said, signaling the bartender over.

"Can you - Can you... take me out for the night?" Blair asked in an almost nonexistent voice.

He gave her a quirky look, "Take you out? What do you mean?"

"Show me what it's like to live as... well, carelessly as you do." She responded confidently, lifting her chin to give him a defiant stare.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked. But the twinkle in his eye made it obvious that he was just mocking Blair.

"Sometimes…" Blair took another gulp of her scotch, causing Carter to send her another startled look, "What? I can't drink scotch?"

"Well…"

Blair's mouth set into a grim line, "Sometimes I really hate it."

"What?" Carter asked genuinely, all jokes put aside.

"Being Blair Waldorf," she replied solemnly, eyes staring straight into the ticking brass clock that was adjacent to the bar. Her eyes followed the chiming bell that rang eleven o' clock.

"You're sick of being yourself?" Carter asked, the humorous twinkle now resurrecting into his eyes.

"You wouldn't understand," Blair scoffed, kicking her legs over the seat of her chair. It was so unlady-like that she almost felt satisfaction. _Take that, mother, _and she laughed as if defying her mother's order was on a level that also contained burglary and murder.

"Stop it," he instructed, placing a broad hand over her dainty knee, "You're making me dizzy."

It wasn't that it felt uncomfortable to have his hand there, it just felt _different_. She leaned over and tugged his glass of whiskey until it was in front of her, "You're probably dizzy from all the damn alcohol."

He let out an appreciative chortle, "That could be it."

"So…" she asked, as silence settled over them like fog, "What do you say? Are you going to take me up on my offer?"

"To take you out?" he asked. She nodded in agreement. "That depends. What's in it for me?"

She placed her own pale hand over his that was still casually resting on her knee, "What's in it for you? A half-drunken, amazingly hot, high-society girl is asking you to take her out and you're asking what's in it for you?"

He smirked, "Touché."

*

"And you take me to a bar," Blair's eyebrows raised as she stepped into the dimly lit bar that smelt pungently like alcohol and sex.

"Oh, honey," he mocked the Upper East Side society women, "This isn't just a bar. This is the only bar where I have competition in the grand sport of pool."

Blair scoffed, following it with a chuckle, "Pool's not even a sport."

"Hell yes it is," Carter replied, pretending to be angered by her blasé statement.

"_I_ can play pool," Blair responded, "And if I can play it, it's not a sport."

He was slightly shocked, but he hid it well. It was strange to be with this carefree, completely honest Blair Waldorf. She wasn't hiding her fears, she wasn't hiding her imperfections. In fact…it was almost as if she was trying to be… well, Serena.

"You say you can play?" he challenged, a slow smile curling onto the edge of his lips, "Then let's play."

Blair sauntered over to the rack of pool sticks and leaned close to the attendant that was renting them out, "Two sticks, please?" she asked flirtily. He happily obliged, taking her crisp twenties and crumpling them into his pocket.

The balls were set up and Blair went to take the first shot. The sound of pool balls clinking reverberated through the wooden walls of the bar, followed by Blair's satisfactory squeal of pride as three of the balls sunk into the webbed nets.

"And therefore I stick by my mantra: pool is not a sport," Blair shot Carter a look, blowing off a small puff of blue chalk smoke from the end of her stick.

And if Carter had been feeling shock earlier, his whole body was numb now. Blair Cornelia Waldorf was very obviously not in the room. It was Serena in Blair's body; it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it was just strange.

"If you win, it's not a sport. If I win, then it is." He threw the bet down, carefully watching her eyes. She took the bait, and he sighed in relief. At least the Blair he knew - the one that always took a challenge - was in there somewhere.

He lined his stick up perfectly, and then watched, appalled, as only one ball sunk in. Actually… his eyes widened. Oh shit, the black one was going… Two balls had gone in. One being the black one.

A pleased smirk grew on Blair's lips as she set up her stick again. The balls clinked, and the inebriated crowd that had been continuously growing cheered as the black ball hit the side of the red, causing it to fall into the net, then the green one, sinking that one as well.

Carter knew he was stubborn. And cocky. If Blair won…

He anxiously rubbed the top of the pole with blue chalk, then stalked over to the table, glaring at the little black ball as he sat it down.

In one swift motion, he hit what he thought was a perfect shot. The crowd sighed in unison as the only thing that sunk was the black ball. Well, that and his self-esteem.

"Dammit," he swore, kicking at the wood pool table, throwing the stick onto the green felt, scattering the arranged balls into a confused heap.

Blair's smirk grew wider, "And I conclude: pool is _not_ a sport."

The crowd growing around him boo-ed, throwing martini olives and various napkins at him. Blair bit back a laugh as she tugged his arm away from the disgruntled audience.

"Fine, fine," he concluded, "Pool's not a sport. After all, if it was, I'd win."

She gave him a pointed look, but his gaze was fixed elsewhere. Defeated, she let out a sigh, "Okay, so what's next?"

*

"The game of truth," Carter was teaching her, "is hard. You can't lie, you can't cheat." He gave her a mocking smile, "And we know you don't know how to play that kind of game."

"You don't know my life," she kidded, shoving him a step backwards. He stumbled into the old, balding street vendor, selling hotdogs as if his life depended on it. (Which in a way, it did.)

"If you lie, you lose. If you pass, you lose. If you - "

"I never lose." Blair announced.

"Fine. I'll start." Carter led her towards the brightly lit entrance of Central Park. It was beautiful at night, sometimes she thought it to be prettier than during the day. "Why are you being…so un-Blair?"

She looked forward, avoiding eye contact, before accidently running in to a park bench. The startled homeless man that had been splayed across it, using it as a bed suddenly sat up. Blair grimaced, stalking away.

"Well, I'll admit that was pretty _Blair_ but other than that it's like I don't even know who you are." He stated blatantly, waving an apologetic hand to the man.

"I'm sick of being labeled. I'm sick of being Eleanor Waldorf's daughter. I'm sick of being Serena van der Woodsen's best friend. I'm sick of being Chuck Bass's pathetic charity case, I'm sick of being Nate's puppydog girlfriend." She paused to take a deep breath, "What's wrong with wanting change?"

He nudged her as they walked along the stone pathways, "Do you want change because _you_ want it? Or just because you don't want to be able to be labeled?"

She frowned, but quickly regained her unemotional composure, "That's two questions. It's my turn."

He nodded twice in agreement - after all, it wasn't just any day Blair Waldorf followed rules.

"Why did you come to the bar I was at?"

"Purely coincidence." He barked a laugh.

"The game's called Truth, Carter," Blair insisted.

"Believe it or not, Chuck Bass told me."

She winced at mention of his name. Her stupid damn heart wouldn't slow down. In attempt to decelerate her racing heart, she took two large breaths, relishing the fresh air of the park.

"And why would he do that?"

Waving a finger at her, he smiled, "That's two questions, Blair."

"Why do you play games?" was his next question, as he settled into the green grass (he couldn't see the color, but he assumed it was green), resting his head into the palm of his hand, tapping the grass next to him, motioning her to join him.

She hesitated, and he let out a sigh of relief. At least Blair Waldorf really was in there somewhere. But she lay down next to him, pulling her hair out from under her head.

"Because I can."

"Not good enough."

"That's not a rule! I just have to answer it truthfully and I did."

"Well, new rule: You have to answer satisfactory enough for the other person to say it's decent." Carter brushed one hand through his brown hair.

"Fine." She grumbled, "I play games because… I'm afraid that someone will beat me to it. I think growing up _here_," she motioned at the New York City skyline, "taught me that if I'm not tough, I'll lose." A small smile escaped her lips, "And you know how much I hate to lose."

He nodded, not to her comment about losing, but because he was finally putting pieces of the puzzle that was Blair together.

"Okay," Blair began, propping herself up on her elbows, "Why are you in town again?"

"I…" his eyes clouded over, "Can I pass?"

"If you want to lose."

He stared at her for a full minute before finally responding, "My father died. I just found out a week ago, and he's been dead for a good three weeks. I rushed back as soon as I could but my mother didn't even want me here. I'm useless to her; ever since I left New York, she's hated me."

Blair looked shaken, "I'm…"

"It's okay. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to ruin the night. So if you let it ruin it anyway, that'll defeat the purpose," Carter cut in.

"Have you tried talking to your mom?"

"I have, of course, but what am I supposed to say to her? I didn't even hardly know my father. He travelled on business all my life, and I actually referred to him as 'that man' for about two-thirds of my life."

Blair, taken aback, gave him a squinted look, "But in the playground. You always used to brag about all the places your father took you… You used to…"

"I was a _child_, Blair. We lie," Carter answered, then he added mischievously, "But I don't really know what your excuse is."

She hit him on the shoulder, "Hey, can we get dinner?"

He nodded, standing up. Reaching down a hand, he pulled her until she was on her feet. "It's nice to be friends again, isn't it." It wasn't a question, but Carter's smile led her to believe that he agreed anyway.

*

"You said you wanted to live," Carter shouted through the rushing engines, "So here we are. We're going to live."

Fear rolled into her body for a mere second, but she pushed her shoulders back, bracing herself, "This is going to be fun," she lied.

"I don't believe you for a second." Carter carefully watched her.

"What are you talking about? I want to. Like I said, I love to win, and that car over there," she pointed to a black car with deeply tinted windows, "looks like our only competition."

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the empty highway road that was being cleared for the current race, "Bullshit."

"If you don't," she managed a devilish smirk, "then I will."

"Who the hell are you?" he mumbled, rubbing his forehead, before finally giving in, slipping into the leather seat of the bright red car.

A gun sounded into the stillness of the night, signaling the beginning of the race. He stepped on the gas, letting it roar to a sudden start. Thirty…fifty…seventy…one-hundred…

"Carter…" she was gasping, panting, gripping the seat for dear life.

"I told you!" he shouted over the squeal of the engine.

"I'm having _fun_," she insisted. But her eyes were screwed shut and her mouth was in a frightened, grim line. "And if you don't win I'll kick your ass."

He spun around the corners, before finally screeching to a halt.

She cracked an eye open, "I'm alive?"

"Yeah, and we won."

*

The crazy Blair Waldorf façade was wearing thin; though she had attempted to tell Carter that a street hotdog would be fine (though she wouldn't eat it), he had finally talked her into a café on fifth.

She breathed a sigh of relief, stepping into the comfortable atmosphere. She belonged here; maybe they didn't need a Blair Waldorf in the Upper East Side. Maybe they didn't want one. But this was her calling.

"Okay, I've got one," Carter said, snapping her back into reality.

"What?"

"A question. A truth question."

"Hit me," she told him, placing a hand under her chin to prop it up, flipping a menu open.

"Why are you a bitch to all of your friends?"

It hurt a little, but somehow she felt like she had it coming for her the whole night anyway. "Because…"

"Truth, Blair," he chided, ensuring that she wouldn't lie.

"Because I don't want them out of line. I don't want them taking over. I don't want them to have more power than me." She answered confidently, as if she wasn't even spilling a secret at all. Even though she was.

"Are you scared they will?"

"Some of them. Serena, usually." She became suddenly sullen at the mention of her best friend.

"I thought you guys were best friends," he asked, thoroughly confused.

"It's just so much easier to like her than me. I'm the cold-hearted, uptight bitch and she's the warm, golden sweetheart. And it's not like I chose to be what I am, it's just how it happened."

He didn't question her, but simply held her gaze. What was that he saw? Pain.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked.

"You looked… in the bar… you looked like a girl who had lost everything she had. You looked so different than the Blair Waldorf I used to know. I just wanted to understand why. You could say curiosity got the best of me."

She smiled sadly, "You could say that."

"What do you want?" he asked, pointing to the menu.

"Soup. I'll have the soup of the day," she informed her, quickly waving the waiter over with a quick flick of her wrist.

After placing their orders, he opened his mouth to begin the next question, but was immediately cut off.

"Wrong. My turn."

"No! You just asked me why I was being so nice?"

"And then you asked what I wanted."

"That was a real question! Not a truth!"

"I answered truthfully, didn't I?" she wore a cocky expression.

"You really wouldn't know how to play a game if there wasn't a way to bend a rules, would you?"

"Nope," she tapped the suede couch in agreement.

*

They sat in the diner, watching the sun peak slowly over the horizon. It was beautiful - possibly more beautiful - than the stillness of the night.

"One last question." Carter looked at Blair, "And the night'll be over."

"That's a relief," she joked, before growing serious, "Actually I'm glad we did this. You probably had to tone it down a little - minus the strippers and the cocaine - but it was fun learning what being Carter Baizen is like." Her eyes lit up, as the sun rose, inch-by-inch, but majestically, nonetheless.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The question took her by surprise. It wasn't as if she should've been unprepared. After all, they'd just spent the night asking questions that they would never have answered otherwise.

"No." Her abrupt answer was an obvious lie.

"Truth, Blair. The game is called Truth."

"Then I pass."

He raised an eyebrow, "What?"

"I said I pass."

"But if you pass, then I…"

"You win. I lose." She focused her energy diligently on the rising golden orb, growing higher and higher into the sky.

Maybe it wasn't relief that washed over him, but finally he was glad that Blair was at least back. She was defensive, and she was in denial, something that she'd been notorious for.

"This is the easiest question I've asked all night," he insisted.

"Can you try to not make this harder than it is?"

"I have to go," Carter told her, as he raised his head to look at the clock, "But I'm glad we did this."

Her eyes narrowed, "Really."

"It's nice to know that you're back."

"Well, if you're serious, I'm glad we did it, too." She let a small smile come over her for a millisecond, "Where are you going anyway?"

"Technically I could lie because we're no longer playing the game."

"But you wouldn't."

He agreed, "Yeah. I wouldn't. I'm going to New Jersey. I've got a girlfriend there."

"What?" she screeched, "We played the game of truth the whole night and I didn't even find out that you had a girlfriend?"

"It didn't come up."

"Why didn't you say something? The game could've been so much more fun…"

"Have you ever heard of 'surprise'? Do you like to learn anything new?"

"No," she responded confidently, "I like my life mapped out."

"And that," he pointed out, "is a truth."

They rose from their seats, and she caught his eyes. They were tired and weary, but a little ecstatic as well. Exactly how Blair felt.

She planted a platonic kiss onto his stubble-filled cheek. He wasn't Nathaniel Archibald, who couldn't listen to Blair for a minute, who had the attention span of an ant. He wasn't Chuck Bass, who made her heart race with every word he said. He was just Carter Baizen, a friend.

And she was thankful for that.

"We'll play again sometime?" she asked. He agreed, but they both knew it would never happen. They'd probably never see each other again, they'd probably not so much as hear from each other again.

But somehow it didn't matter. He had taught her something no one else had: being herself was okay. And no matter what happened between now and the end of her life, the person who had taught her that would never change.

The bells rang as he opened the jingling door of the café, "Yeah, we'll play again. Maybe while I'm gone, you'll learn to play by the rules?"

**fin.**


End file.
